


Devotion/Retaliation

by kingcael



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Gen, I mean rather young! He's 13, young!Auron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8526934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingcael/pseuds/kingcael
Summary: Stories of Auron as a young acolyte. Separated from Cracked Marbles into its own fic.





	1. Chapter 1

I remember arriving in Bevelle, and thinking the air was much too warm. It was so different from the crisp air of the mountains, as if someone had slapped a warm washcloth over my face.

I was nervous about joining the monks, since there was always talk about how they were of the holiest order. The prayers of Yevon were used in my hometown, but not with the fervour that they had in Bevelle. Our prayers were generally directed to the Summoners that would sometimes venture our way. Mama was certain the temple was the right path for me, wanting me to avoid the fate of my brothers and father who had died with the Crusaders. When I came of age, I journeyed to Bevelle with the group of Warrior Monks that came to our village for spices and wood. Mama cried that day, I remember.

The first day in the temple, I was assigned a room with a boy named Kinoc. He was shorter than me by about half a foot, and his light brown hair stuck up nearly two inches at the back of his head. There were two small mattresses on the floor, and he was already stretched out on the one that was considerably less worn. He was strangely aggressive, and wanted to fight as soon as I arrived. I declined, and wondered why he didn’t like me. Perhaps the fight was all in good fun.

After my first month in the temple, I saw a family at prayer, pressing their foreheads to the High Summoner’s feet, begging for food. They had come such a long way, from somewhere near Djose, just to ask for food. The temple was busy, and the monk in charge of keeping order shooed them away to make room for the next group of worshippers. I remember feeling a disconnect at that moment, from the temple, and especially from Yevon. How could Yevon deny such a small request, when I knew the temple had more than enough food? A prayer that could be answered by the hands of man should be. 

I stole food for the family. A loaf of bread, fresh and warm for the evening meal. I can’t imagine it was missed. It was easy to slip down into the kitchens, since new acolytes were often seen running about on errands for their elders. The family was grouped together at the temple gate, talking in whispers. They were almost silhouettes under the lamps in the courtyard, as night crept over them. The mother was crying. The father had an awkwardly bent leg, and leaned heavily on his daughter. All their faces were dirty. I hurried over to them, and kept my head bowed low, feeling a blush come to my cheeks as I approached. 

“E-excuse me,” I said softly, pulling on the mother’s sleeve. She had a face like my mama’s, and I found it difficult to meet her gaze. Instead, I looked at the daughter, and handed her the bread. Her hands trembled, and were noticeably dirty against the fresh bread. “I- ah, Yevon heard your prayers. Please take this.”

The mother cried harder, and hugged me, and the father’s face was blank with shock. I nodded quickly, and backed up, catching the daughter’s eye. She smiled.

I was to be punished for that. For stealing. When the elder dragged me by the arm to a part of the temple that was cold, and damp, and echoey, I realized he was serious. Until I was standing in the Via Purifico, I thought that it was a joke. One loaf of bread, barely missed at meal time, to give to that family for their health and happiness seemed like pittance.

“I am the Corrector.”

I was silent, glancing at the wet stone walls, barely visible in the dim candlelight. The man in the mask stood in front of a heavy table that glittered with knives and other weapons.

“Acolyte!”

I snapped to attention, my heart pounding. The air had the same odd smell as the barn where they would slaughter animals before winter. The Corrector was a tall man, in white robes. As he walked, the hem of his robes grew dark. He wore a bright metal mask that covered his entire face except his eyes. The mask shone in the candlelight, and his voice was echoey behind it.

“You are to be punished for theft.”

“I just wanted to-“ I couldn’t keep my eyes off the largest knife, feeling my knees go weak.

“Intention doesn’t matter when you have done wrong. Theft is theft, and the punishment is always the same.”

I took a step back, right into the monk who had brought me down here. He gripped my shoulders, but his whole face was in shadow.

“Hands on the table,” the Corrector said, sounding bored.

I shrank back, my eyes set firmly on the knife, despairing that they were going to cut my hands off and send me home. I had read stories about that.

“What are you doing, acolyte? Hands on the table!”

I trembled uncontrollably, placing my hands on the table. It steadied my body, but not my heart. When the first strike from the thick leather strap hit, I was almost relieved. I cried out, but quickly silenced myself for the subsequent strikes. I do not know how many there were. Until they bled was the usual stopping point apparently. The final strike, just to drive their point home, broke my right middle finger. I howled, and the monk holding me loosened his grip a fraction.

“A healer will see you in the morning,” the Corrector said, nodding at the monk behind me. “Until then…” He squeezed my hand, searching for eye contact. I met his gaze with defiance, despite the tears in my eyes. “Think. Think on what you must do to serve the temple, to serve Yevon. We cannot steal from Yevon.”

I could not believe that was Yevon’s wish, or doctrine. These men were clearly corrupt. Evil. All manners of curses that my young mind knew came to my lips, but I held them back.

As I stumbled back to my room, I cried, cradling my hands to my chest and vowed to change this. The temple could not truly condone this. If I could… If I could become a leader, I would change what these men had corrupted. My ambition came solely from thoughts of revenge. Unbecoming for a holy man.

When I returned to my room, I couldn’t open the door. I tried to pinch the latch with my shaking fingers, but couldn’t keep a steady grasp. Frustrated, I kicked the door, earning a stubbed toe to go with my useless hands.

I wanted to go home.

The door opened slowly, and Kinoc poked his head out, scowling. His expression changed immediately to shock when he saw my bloody hands.

He said nothing, but couldn’t keep his eyes away from my hands. I carefully stepped past him, into our room and sat on my mattress, with my back to him.

“Um… Aron? I mean, Aur- Auron, right?” Kinoc ventured. This was probably one of the first times we had spoken, despite being roommates for a month. “Are you okay?”

I was silent, staring at a dent in the stone. Trying to keep my hands from shaking was impossible, but I could at least not cry in front of this stranger.

“I… I noticed you weren’t at evening meal, so I brought you a bun, if you want it.”

A bitter laugh, and a sudden rush of affection for Kinoc. “I’m glad you didn’t get caught,” I said, my voice croaky.

“Caught?”

I held up my hands, and turned my head. “Stealing.”

“Um, I think it’s okay, cause it’s for you, though?” Kinoc sat on my mattress, and held the bun out. I pivoted on the spot, and tried to take the bun, but it was obvious my hands wouldn’t work. He shrugged, and picked it back up, tearing off a small piece and holding it in front of my mouth. Initially, I balked, but then took it. My stomach growled approvingly, and Kinoc smiled.

“You remind me of my little brother,” Kinoc said, tearing the bun again. “He always has that grumpy face too.”

The night elder tapped three times on the door, the signal for all candles to be snuffed and for us to sleep. No doubt there were consequences for disobeying that order too.

Indelicately, Kinoc shoved the rest of the bun in my mouth, and hopped up to snuff the lights.

“If you go to sleep, those will stop hurting, you know.” Kinoc sat next to me in the dark, and I felt him undoing my braid. With a bit of adjusting, he managed to untie the sash around my waist, and removed the loose front of my robes. I would have to put them on backwards tomorrow to hide the smears of blood. He guided me to lie down, and then pulled my blankets over me. “Just go to sleep, okay?”

I tried to sleep, keeping my hands isolated, and thought of anything other than the wet stench of the Via Purifico, and the scratchy blanket, and the hard pillow and how much my hands hurt.

Kinoc’s breathing evened out after a few minutes, and I felt tears spring to my eyes instantly. Short, uneven breaths stuttered through me, and I desperately wanted to go home. Mama would have been able to fix my hands, and if I was there, it wouldn’t have happened anyway. I trembled, wondering if my finger might move now. A foolish mistake, as the resulting pain made me cry out, and then wail as quietly as I could into my pillow.

Kinoc’s hand rested gently on my back, and he started rubbing small circles, resting his head against my neck. “Shh, Auron. It’s okay.”

“I want to go h-home,” I gulped. “I hate it here.”

“Yevon brought you here, Auron,” Kinoc whispered, moving closer still. “He must have a plan for you, right?”

I swallowed, and wiped my face on my pillow. My mutinous thought from earlier resurfaced. I could make the temple a safe place, closer to Yevon’s true nature. “Unh, mm, I guess…”

“Definitely. Now, sleep, or both of us are gonna be dog tired tomorrow.”

It still seemed a tall order to try to sleep, but it was considerably easier with Kinoc next to me. At least I wasn’t alone.

When I awoke the next morning, Kinoc was scrubbing the blood from the front of my robes. A friend. 

 


	2. Golden

After Kinoc finished scrubbing my robes, he left, saying something about getting the both of us breakfast, and I sat in silence. Kinoc had helped me dress, in case I was called away before the healer arrived. He scurried away before I could ask him to help with my hair, and so it hung free and tangled around my face. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the swollen mess of my hands. The dried blood formed a dark pattern on my skin. It reminded me of the tattoos that the warriors of our village wore. Mama had never wanted me on that path, with those men growing colder and angrier as the years passed, marked by ink and scars. I wondered if these marks could be healed away completely.

The Corrector had said he would send a healer in the morning, so I waited. The front of my robes were damp still, and they chilled me. Perhaps I was to wait the entire day, as additional punishment. It would be weakness to seek aid. If this was a test, they were going to get no satisfaction from my failure.

A sudden knock on the door made me jump; I hadn’t expected Kinoc back so quickly.

“Excuse me?” A young man’s voice. “Is this Acolyte Auron’s room?”

“It is,” I replied, trying to toss my hair over my shoulder to look more presentable.

“I am here to… to heal you? May I come in?”

“Yes,” I said.

The door opened slowly, and a tall thin man with an angular face peered in. He remained on the threshold as he looked at me, and his eyebrows twitched inwards. His eyes captured my attention instantly. They were a bright clear blue, something I hadn’t seen very much. The people in my village all had a similar colouring as myself: black hair, brown skin, and brown or black eyes. My light brown eyes were seen as unusual, but not nearly as unusual as this man’s sky blue. His skin was also odd, white like snow. He almost looked sickly pale. His hair was light brown, and cropped short, but still had untameable flyaways in every direction.

I caught myself staring, and averted my gaze back to my hands. A strand of my hair fell against my cheek.

The man hovered near the doorway, and seemed to be waiting for me to speak. When no words came, he cleared his throat, and took a step inside, closing the door.

“Shall I get to work, then?” he asked, pulling a thin but sturdy looking stick from his robes.

I stared at the stick, and something in my expression must have spoken of fear, as he lowered the stick to his side, and shifted to hide it. “This is just to channel magic, I’m… I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice was soothing, as if he were speaking to a child, which I suppose he was, but I found it irritating nevertheless.

“You already said you were here to heal me,” I snapped, scowling.

Surprise flickered over his expression, widening his curious blue eyes. He smiled, and stepped forward, plunking down unceremoniously at the end of my mattress. “Well, you’ve got energy then. Let’s get started.”

I tried to keep my hands from trembling as I brought them up, and he examined them closely. I could feel his breath on my hands as he surveyed the damage.

“It looks reasonably simple, it should heal fi- is your finger broken?” His lips pressed into a hard line, and he cradled my hand in his own. His hands were small for a man, but warm. “This is unnecessary.” A frown creased his face, and he began to whisper incantations, passing the stick over my hand with extreme care.

The magic was like cool water running over the hot wounds, and caressed my skin with feather-lightness that tickled. One of my few memories of my father was of him trying to describe what white magic felt like. Cold, but pleasant, like when you flip your pillow over. I didn’t understand until now. The magic spiralled around my broken finger, and tears sprang to my eyes as it snapped back into place. I gasped in a breath, and jerked my hand away, but he gently maintained his grip.

“It’s alright, almost finished,” he said, pulling my hand back towards him. He smiled reassuringly, and I blinked away the tears.

I did my best to remain still, and stared at his blue eyes. He took my other hand, and I felt the stress leave my body as his magic washed the pain away. My hands were still somewhat swollen, though having my finger back in place was a tremendous relief.

“Thank you…” I mumbled, opening and closing my hands. They still ached, but they seemed mobile enough. I expected him to leave right away, but he lingered, propping his chin on his hand.

“What did you steal?”

I pressed my lips into a hard line, and folded my hands in my lap. He didn’t look away from me, and his gaze was heavy.

“…Bread,” I said eventually.

“Bread? Aren’t you getting enough to ea-“

“Not for me. For a family. The priests wouldn’t help them.”

The man was silent, and then laughed quietly. “I had heard there was a new acolyte with a heart of gold.”

I frowned, bristling as he laughed at me. He thought me foolish. “Don’t laugh at me.”

His laughter ceased immediately, and that silly surprised look appeared again. “I truly only mean that as a compliment, honest.”

At that, I said nothing, but began to untangle my hair, hoping that would be a sign for him to leave. He didn’t leave.

“Would you like some help? You’ll have some dexterity problems for the next day or so.”

“I can manage, thank you,” I said stiffly.

 

“I don’t mind,” the man said airily, shifting his position and snatching up the brush from my clumsy hands. “Ahh, your hair is beautiful.” He knelt behind me, and brushed my hair out, complimenting it the entire time. “It’s so nice. Beautiful black, and shiny… and so long! Have you ever cut it? How shall I tie it back? A braid?”

I nodded, and he got to work; he was surprisingly adept at it, and tied it with a golden ribbon he had in his pocket.

“There!” he declared, tossing my long braid over my shoulder. The golden ribbon shimmered in the morning light. It must have been expensive. I began to protest, tugging at the knot he had tied.

“No, no, you keep that, ‘Boy with the heart of gold’. It suits you.” The man laughed again, and finally headed to the door. “I might see you around someday, if you keep up those righteous ways!”

Despite my sour mood, I did regret not thanking him more gracefully, and later that day, I sought him out in the priest’s wing of the temple. He was absent, out on a journey to seaside villages to offer aid. His reputation preceded him, and I learned his name.

Braska.

  
  
EXTRA:  
  
With my new vow, I found the rest of the temple rules easy to adhere to. I could follow their rules until I was powerful enough to make my own.

The place I found the most peace was during Choir. Though I was often too shy to sing in front of the other monks, I found the sounds of their songs soothing. This truly was something pure that the men in the temple couldn't corrupt. A song to Yevon. A holy song. 

I would become worthy. A man devout to Yevon alone, and not to the men who claimed to know him better than I. 


End file.
